


— The Alternatives

by softomi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softomi/pseuds/softomi
Summary: When we feel like we aren’t in control, we’ll reorganize ourselves; we’ll think of other solutions; but in the end, we’ll always find ourselves where we began.My dream may not have begun with you, but it sure as hell will end with you.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	— The Alternatives

Your keys twirled on your finger, they jingled against each other as you entered the gym. The ball smacks against the floor during the two men’s argument. The quarrel created tension in the bare gym, the two boys at each other’s necks.

“Will it be worth it?!” Iwaizumi was gripping Oikawa by the material of his shirt, “When you finally injure yourself enough to be forced to quit, will you finally be satisfied?”

“Maybe!” Oikawa pushed his arm away, hands reaching down to grab one of the fallen volleyballs. The ball in his hand slips from his grip when he spots you through the net. He attempts to cool the high rising of his chest, “Y/n.” He whispers your name.

“Tooru.” You wave at him.

Oikawa’s head tilts at the way Iwaizumi knocks him with his fist, “Stupid.” Iwaizumi states as he leaves to gather his things.

You sit on the bench, legs swaying, you bid farewell to Iwaizumi as he leaves. The male simply pats your head, a habit he developed from when you were the small freshman in high school. You hear him faintly whisper under his breath, asking you to tame the beast on the court.

Oikawa’s eyes linger on the way Iwaizumi touches your hair, waiting for him to leave the gym before he walks to you. You flash him a smile, one he hopes you only give him, as he approaches you. His shoulders slump when he takes a seat next to you, eyes glued to the volleyball he’s placed between his feet.

“Are you here to yell at me too?” His voice is soft compared to the roar he gave his friend.

You sway slightly, just enough for your shoulders to bounce off of his, your lips hum, “No.” You see the way his lips pout but yet his eyes are shaking, “I can already tell you’re doing it to yourself.”

That’s what he liked about you, no; it was what he loved about you. You were like water, fizzling the flame coursing his veins, providing life to his wounds.

“Do you think I should quit volleyball?”

Your swaying ceased, you noticed the way his eyes were no longer shaking, they were still as they stared deep into the ball. He was serious, just like he always was when this thought passed his mind; for someone who breathed for the sport, some days he gets the wind knocked out of him.

“Okay.” The way his eyes shot to look at you, it almost made you jolt, “Well.” You say, “What’s plan B then?” You bring your gaze to stare at the net, “Let’s strategize. Plan A is professional volleyball, what’s plan B?”

He takes the ball into his hands, “Plan B.” The words roll off his tongue, “I could teach volleyball.”

Your lips pull into a grin. Of course. You think, “Okay. Plan C?”

“Definitely a model.”

Your head nods, “Definitely. Plan D?”

Oikawa purses his lips, “Oh! I could be a referee for volleyball games.”

“I feel like you would be very biased.” You counter.

He lets out a flabbergasted gasp, “I would never.”

“Says the person who refereed a checkers game between me and Iwaizumi. You definitely saw me cheat.”

The ball is abandoned on the ground as Oikawa turns to you, “I saw nothing. You won fair and square.”

You cackle at his comment, “Okay. Then, plan E?”

You waited as he stared at you. He gave you one of those looks, one that you just couldn’t entirely pinpoint where his thoughts were leading him. Most times you could read him like the back of your hand, but then he gives you this look; as if those other times he was letting you read him.

“I marry you.” You froze yet he was so nonchalant, “Then we get a big house and have lots and lots of kids. Enough to make a volleyball team.” A smile graces your lips, you let him ramble. He names your children, plans where they’d go to school, plans the ages of each child, “And then when our last child gets married and moves out of the house, we’ll move to the country side where I’ll teach the neighborhood kids how to play the greatest sport ever, volleyball.”

The excitement in his voice dwindles, his eyes staring at the net. You perk your head to him, viewing his still expression; the longingness in his eyes, “Plan A sounds like the most pleasing doesn’t it.”

Oikawa meets your gaze, “It’s my dream.” His voice falls to a whisper, “I worked so hard to get here, I can’t just stop.”

“I know.” Your voice is flat, “I’m so proud of you, how far you’ve come, everything you’ve achieved.” Your shoulders brush against his, your head falling onto his shoulder, “You worked so hard.”

Oikawa was someone you wondered would he ever be satisfied. When he tasted victory, would it fulfill him or would it make him hungrier? Even on days when he was designated as being off from volleyball, his mind still raced to get ahead; it was what you loved about him. Every second he grew passionate and failure made him starved.

“Shall we go home?” He asks after moments of silence, “Tomorrow’s Monday.”

You ponder his statement for a minute, “I don’t think it would be fair to leave without showing me some of what you were practicing.”

The way his lips contort into a grin, he turns to you, placing a kiss onto the top of your head, “Since you asked.”

He’s eager to grasp the ball, back facing you as he runs to the court. You automatically pull out your phone, opening the camera app to switch to video mode. You stand to your feet, making your way to the opposite side of the net.

“If it looks like it’s coming too close.” He calls out.

“I know I know.” You wave him off, “Duck, run, just basically get out of the way.” You pull the phone down to look at him, “You act like I haven’t gotten hit by one of your serves before.”

“You act like it didn’t give you a concussion.” Oikawa sticks out a tongue to you.

“Yeah well,” You stomp, “Just go.”

It falls silent. His footsteps are ghostly mute, the ball is tossed in the air, he jumps; his palm slapping against the ball. It lands strikingly in front of you, just centimeters in front of your position before bouncing off the floor and over to the side. A chill danced on your spine and you couldn’t help the astonished gasp coming from your mouth.

“Was it too close?” Oikawa moves closer to the net, a slight jog in his step.

“No.” You choke out, “it was perfect. Let’s get a few more.”

His second serve was just as perfect, it landed slightly closer but enough for it to not hit you. As he jumped in the air for a third time, your eyes remained locked on the ball; unconsciously you moved forward a centimeter, you could hear your name come from his mouth as the ball knocked against your shoulder; you fell back, your cell flew from your hands and instinctively you held your pained shoulder.

“Hey.” Oikawa was in your line of vision but his expression blurred in and out. The pain was almost unbearable, “Just wait a second okay.”

You were shouting obscenities, it helped to dull the pain. Perhaps if you were a volleyball player, you’d be able to bounce back from this quicker, but being an average fan who loved to watch instead of play; the pain was much worse than it ever looks on professional players.

Oikawa was pressing a cold pack onto your shoulder. You were finally able to sit up, your shoulder completely sore and numb from the cold. After a few minutes, Oikawa insisted on seeing your shoulder. His looks softened into concern when you lifted your shirt to expose the patch of skin. He tried not to apply pressure as he grazed the portion of skin already starting to purple from the deep impact. He can only image how much darker it would turn out the next day.

“I told you if it got too close.”

“I know.” You state.

“No.” Oikawa’s eyes are sharp, holding back the shakiness that he feels, “What if something happened? It could have hit you right in the face, you’d have another concussion. Tomorrow we’re taking you to the doctor.”

“Tooru, I’m fine.” You try to play it off by moving his hand but his fingers graze against the forming bruise with pressure and you wince.

He helps you stand up, a frown on his lips, “We’re going, who knows, I probably took out your shoulder. Gosh, your mom is going to kill me. She already hates me because I gave you a concussion.”

“If you keep bringing it up, of course she’s going to hate you.” His hand holds yours, his eyes staring at your throbbing shoulder. Your hand brushes against his cheek, “I’m fine.” You attempt to reassure him.

He lowers himself, pulling the neck of your shirt to reveal the spot of skin. He presses a kiss onto the tender spot, a kiss on your neck, a peck on your chin, lips on your cheek, and he draws a breath from your lips.

The flush of your cheeks distracts you from the pain. Your hand instinctively lifts to pull him down for another kiss, but a hiss escapes your mouth as you forget about your shoulder. Oikawa is practically grinning with glee.

“Was my kiss just that good, you need more?” Oikawa leans down, a cocky grin on his lips.

“Never mind.” You push away his puckering lips, walking to your things sitting on the bench.

“Aw, wait for me.”

You sit idly, watching him clean up his mess of volleyballs. You throw instructions at him periodically and he gladly tries to comply. He’s adamant on carrying your bag for you, leaving you to intertwine your fingers with his as you two exit the gym.

“Can we not tell your mom I ruined your shoulder.”

You laugh, “Okay, we’ll just tell her Iwaizumi did it. She’d never get mad at him. She still thinks I could have a shot at marrying him.”

He lets out an audible gasp, “Don’t even joke about that.” Oikawa twirls a strand of your hair when you two stop at the front doors, “If you do, I’ll just skip to plan F.”

“Plan F?”

Oikawa uses his fingers to aim at you, his tongue pokes out teasingly, he lets out a pop from his lips, “Shot-gun wedding.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving you for Hajime.”


End file.
